by Julie Matern
Annabelle was struck, not for the first time, by their differences; the mother’s skin so ivory white, the daughter’s a light olive; the mother’s eyes a striking sapphire blue and the daughter’s a rich, chocolate brown ringed with thick, black lashes. The variance must hale from generations long past, she thought. In other ways, such as their hair and build, the two women were very similar, she acknowledged.
She noticed Emily’s eyes glistening with tears as she gazed at her daughter’s image in the glass. Annabelle’s heart ached for such sentiment in her own mother.
“Annabelle, you look very handsome this evening. That dress is most becoming, and your hair suits you very well.” Her aunt smiled.
Annabelle glowed at the praise from her beloved aunt Emily. Would that her own mother were so free with compliments! “Thank you, Aunt,” she responded gratefully.
Emily wiped her cheek and clapped her hands together, saying, “Now girls, it is almost time to come down. Francesca must be ready to greet her guests, who will begin arriving in less than half an hour, and I fear you should both take some refreshment before the festivities begin lest you faint from so much dancing and so little nourishment.” She gave them both a motherly smile, her eyes flashing with merriment.
“Oh, Mama!” exclaimed Francesca. “I could not eat one morsel even if you encouraged me very much. I am far too excited and nervous to eat.”
“Well, at least take a little water then. I do not want us to be the talk of the county because the debutante fainted at her own ball!”
“Although … it might be useful if there were a particular gentleman whose attention we wanted to attract,” suggested Francesca with a playful glint in her dark eyes. Her mother shook her head and departed the room, laughing gently.
“Do you expect Phillip to dance with you this evening?” asked Annabelle. She referred to Phillip Waverley, second son of Sir William Waverley, a very great man in the county whose estate abutted the Havershams’. Consequently, Francesca and Phillip had grown up together and were great friends in their youth. Annabelle had long held a candle for Phillip and had been dismayed to notice that he had been little able to hide his attraction to Francesca on his return from Oxford the summer before. In his absence, Francesca had blossomed from child to woman in a most distracting way. Though Francesca appeared to be completely ignorant of the change in Phillip’s feelings, Annabelle had graciously extinguished her candle.
“He did ask permission to have the first dance with me when he came to tea last Thursday,” she replied with excitement.
“Do you favor him, then?” asked Annabelle, suddenly intrigued.
“To be sure, I think very highly of him, but I consider him more as a brother than a suitor! And he, I, as a sister! He was merely being kind, as is his way. Dear Phillip. But tonight is about new possibilities, is it not, cousin? My circle of acquaintance is so very limited here, and I know that Mama and Father have invited many old friends from various parts of the country.”
“And their sons!” laughed Annabelle.
“Yes! And their sons. I aim to dance with all of them to broaden my associations. It will be an adventure! I do not believe that the purpose of a coming out ball is to secure a husband but to experience what the world has to offer in the way of suitors. Do you not think so, Annabelle?”
“Oh yes,” she sighed, longingly. The possibilities were so very exciting.
“We must marry, of course,” added Francesca, “but we are so fortunate that we will not have to endure an arranged marriage.”
“That is true,” said Annabelle, “but Father has made it clear that although I will have some choice in the matter he does expect my husband to possess a great deal of land. He is of the opinion that land is very important to the upper classes and will protect us from future financial upheaval. If I fall in love with a vicar’s son, he will not approve of the match.”
“Then you had better marry Phillip!” Francesca laughed, unconscious of the irony.
“Come now, we should seek some water as Mama suggested,” said Francesca as she gathered up her dress and checked her appearance in the long glass, “or else we will be swooning for the ugly men as well as the handsome!” Annabelle took her arm and they both exited the room, giggling like school girls as they swept down the hall and the grand staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs they found Katherine, Francesca’s cousin on her mother’s side. Katherine looked most becoming in a silver-gray silk gown, but as usual her countenance was less becoming with its haughty lip. She was quite a beauty, but she suffered from a jealous disposition that resulted in a perpetually pinched expression. She had the misfortune to feel that any praise of another was a slight to her; indeed, she seemed to find offense in every quarter. This tendency to ill humor had prevented the closeness that might otherwise have existed between the cousins.
“At last!” sighed Katherine. “I have been waiting upon you these last twenty minutes!” she exclaimed. “You look very well cousin,” she said grudgingly, addressing Francesca.
“Why thank you, Katherine,” replied Francesca. This was praise indeed coming from her sour cousin. “You look particularly lovely this evening too.”
Katherine nodded her regal head in agreement and turned her attention to Annabelle. “Annabelle, your maid has managed a miracle with your flat, dull hair.”
Used to Katherine’s underhanded slights, Annabelle took her comment in stride and chose to accept it as a compliment. “You are most kind, Katherine.”
“Come, let us find some refreshment before the guests arrive,” suggested Francesca, and she threaded her arm through Annabelle’s on her way to the drawing room.
T
It seemed to Francesca that the receiving line was interminably long, and she was extremely anxious to begin dancing. Eventually, however, her mother gave her leave to commence the dancing portion of the evening.
As previously planned, she began the evening’s festivities with her old friend, Phillip Waverley. He was most young ladies’ dream of the ideal suitor, she had to admit. He was taller than the average man, with very broad shoulders, wavy fair hair that he wore a little longer than was fashionable in the country, a rugged jaw, and green eyes. This evening he looked particularly dashing in his white breeches and royal blue coat. Francesca enjoyed the first two dances with him in a friendly camaraderie. It was a fine way to begin her ball and helped to calm her nerves.
Her next partner was a son of her father’s friends from Scotland. He was a gangling youth who had not yet grown into his eyebrows and Francesca had to control an urge to laugh as he kept stepping on her toes.
Released from his embrace, she turned to her next partner, another stranger. He was rather short and portly and had a very unfortunate lisp, which caused him to eject a little spittle as he spoke. This was very distressing as Francesca was at pains to remain polite but needed to keep turning her head to save herself from the spray. How she would laugh with Annabelle when it was time for refreshment.
As she danced with partner after partner, she became more at ease with being the center of attention. Several of her partners were exceptionally handsome, she noted, but not so agreeable. Several more were exceptionally agreeable but not so handsome.
All too soon it was time for supper. She led the way into the dining hall on her father’s arm.
“It appears that you are having a pleasant evening,” whispered her father with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Father, you know very well that I am in heaven! I think we should have a ball every month!”
“Alas, then there would be no inheritance to pass down to you, my sweet girl,” he replied.
“Touché!” she returned.
He led her to the table and at his signal the company began to eat and drink and make merry. Katherine sat at the piano and provided music as they ate, for she was an excellent pianist.
Unfortunately, Annabelle was too far down the table to converse with, so Francesca had to hold
in all her humorous tales until dessert, when all were more free to move about the room.
“Bella, my dear, are you having as much fun as I?” she inquired when they were able to speak together.
“Oh, my goodness, yes! I have never seen so many handsome men in all my life! One wonders where they have all been hiding!”
“Is there one gentleman whom you prefer above all others?” encouraged her cousin.
“No! I think I have fallen in love with at least a dozen men in the last half an hour alone!” she exclaimed before bursting into her beautiful, musical laughter. “But what about you? The debutante? Has anyone captured your heart?” Annabelle asked in a conspiratorial tone, upon which opening Francesca shared with her the more amusing tales of the evening.
After several minutes of private conversation, Francesca happened to look over her cousin’s shoulder, where her attention was immediately captured by a newcomer who was standing just outside the doorway to the supper room.
“Annabelle, do you know who that is?” she asked urgently. Annabelle turned her elegantly styled head to cast a glance behind her. Her eyes opened wide in surprise and she nodded.
“Oh yes!” she said with barely concealed excitement, “I met him at Mrs. Sunderland’s house in Bath last summer. He is the son of a Baronet from Gloucestershire. Mr. Langley Ashbourne. Do you not remember me mentioning him to you last year?”
“Oh, I do, I do,” she replied thoughtfully. “He is your mysterious ‘Mr. Fine,’ is he not?”
“Mr. Fine,” as Annabelle had nicknamed Mr. Ashbourne, was average of height and slight of build, but his face was the face of Adonis. A beautifully defined, angular jaw, intelligent eyes, and black hair styled in the latest fashion that shone in the candlelight. His beauty was almost painful to behold. Every feature was even and pleasant. Francesca did not know that she had ever seen his equal. She was quite at a loss for words. She felt Annabelle examining her with amused curiosity.
“He is fine, is he not?”
“I think you understated his qualities, Annabelle.”
He was standing in the doorway, observing the masses as they dined and visited with one another. His air was unhurried, and he perused the room with a quiet confidence. Francesca could barely drag her attention away.
“We could importune grandmother for an introduction, as I believe he is an acquaintance of hers,” suggested Annabelle.
However, before they could approach, Lady Augusta Haversham, Francesca’s grandmother, was seen gliding across the room to the gentleman in question.
“Aha, you will get your introduction, I think,” declared Annabelle.
Francesca returned her gaze to her grandmother and the elegant young gentleman. Lady Haversham was evidently welcoming him to the ball, and he appeared to be apologizing for his late arrival. Her grandmother turned and indicated her granddaughter with her gloved hand. The gentleman flitted his attention in the direction indicated but did not linger on her person, rather surveying the whole area. When his gaze landed, it was on Annabelle, at whom he smiled in recognition. As his lips parted, his face creased in the most attractive of expressions, and for Francesca, time seemed to stand still.
“He has a most pleasing smile; wouldn’t you agree, cousin?” Annabelle sighed.
Francesca shook her head. Apparently, she had been so lost in reverie that she had missed the intervening conversation with Annabelle and did not know to what she referred. She recklessly wished that Mr. Ashbourne would bestow such an expression of pleasure upon her. Her heart quickened in anticipation of an introduction, but rather than accompany her grandmother across the room, he bowed and turned to leave. Her disappointment was acute.
T
Lady Augusta Haversham floated across the room and grasped Francesca’s hand. “Did you see the young man to whom I was talking, my dear?”
With a trembling voice, Francesca responded as nonchalantly as possible, “I did Grandmama. Is the gentleman not hungry?”
“No indeed. He is late because his horse threw a shoe and he had to stop in the village at an inn, the Kings Arms. He is lodging there this evening. Are you acquainted with him?”
“I have had the pleasure Grandmama,” interjected Annabelle. “I met Mr. Ashbourne in Bath when I was there with Mrs. Sunderland.”
“Is that so? How fortunate.” Lady Augusta’s tone was irritated, and turning to Francesca, she continued, “I knew his grandmother well, she was a girlhood friend and I met him several times over the years when I visited her. It must be five years since I last saw him. He has greatly improved in the intervening years.” She turned back to include Annabelle in the conversation. “It appears that he was at Oxford with your cousin William, Annabelle. Isn’t that extraordinary? Has William never mentioned it?”
“No,” exclaimed Annabelle. “He has not!”
Francesca, still in a trance-like state, was not participating in the conversation at hand but was instead gazing at the doorway that had lately held the young man.
“It was I who invited him to come to your ball this evening. I very much hope that you will make his acquaintance, my dear. Now, I must go and speak to Lady Candelow.” With that endorsement hanging in the air, she slipped back to the table she had recently departed.
“Well, I wonder that William never mentioned the connection,” exclaimed Annabelle. “I am sure I brought up the association, Francesca. Francesca!”
“What? Oh, excuse me. I cannot imagine what is the matter with me,” she murmured. “I feel quite light-headed.”
“I believe Mr. Langley Ashbourne has cast a spell on you,” she teased.
“I believe he has.”
T
As the official refreshment portion of the evening drew to a close, Francesca’s father gave an emotional speech, which left both Francesca and her mother dabbing at their eyes. He then invited the guests to resume their dancing.
Francesca anxiously scanned the ballroom for the newcomer, Mr. Ashbourne, but could not find him in the dense crowd. She glanced at her dance card, dismayed to see that she had no room left and that she was promised to the rather portly Mr. Bonnington-Smythe for not one but two waltzes.
Mr. Bonnington-Smythe found her, though she made a rather sorry companion since she was continually searching the room for Mr. Ashbourne. She was only half listening to his talk about the weather, but he seemed more than content with the sound of his own voice and did not appear to expect much of a reply, so it was of little consequence. As they completed a set, she suddenly glimpsed the gentleman in question standing by a glass door that was open to let in a much-needed breath of air from the gardens. Mr. Ashbourne was talking with Katherine rather intimately, his head bowed to hers. An unfamiliar and fierce rush of jealousy sprang to her breast. She shook her head to try to dispel it and return her attention to her dance partner, but alas, she could not. Against her will, her eyes hunted for them as her partner twirled her around and around. Mr. Ashbourne, she observed, was touching Katherine’s arm in a most familiar way, and the wave of envy came crashing back upon her.
Did Katherine know him? She was pretty, to be sure, but could such a man really admire someone who was so … so negative and unpleasant? Why was she having such thoughts about a man she scarcely knew? It was most disconcerting.
The dance ended at last and she rushed to confer with Annabelle.
“Why Annabelle, you look flushed,” began Francesca as she saw the heightened color in her fair cousin’s cheeks.
“Oh my, Mr. Ambrose Doyle was just saying some very pretty things to me. It is enough to turn a girl’s head!”
Though anxious to discuss her own matter, she said, “Do you like him then, Bella?”
“I rather think I do. He is not handsome, but then neither am I—” Francesca opened her mouth to object but Annabelle waved her hand to stop her. “It is true, but I think we look well together, and he is very amusing and kind and he owns acres and acres of land in Devonshire! I hope we can further our acquaintan
ce in the coming weeks. I must talk to Papa about him …” She made to rush off until Francesca grabbed her arm to arrest her flight. For the first time since the conversation began, Annabelle took a proper look at Francesca’s countenance. “My dear, whatever is the matter? Was your partner rude? Did he step on your toes? What can have caused such agitation in your angelic face?”
Francesca dipped her head, looking up at her cousin through lowered lashes like a naughty dog caught stealing food from the table. “Nothing of the kind, Bella. Mr. Bonnington-Smythe was politeness itself, though rather stuffy. No, I came to ask you if cousin Katherine is already acquainted with Mr. Ashbourne? They seem rather familiar. See, over there by the window.”
Bella gave her cousin a knowing look and explained, “Yes, she passed through Bath while he was there, though I do not believe they are more than slight acquaintances. However, I own that the cozy portrait they currently present rather contradicts that notion.”
“No matter, then,” declared Francesca, determined not to let this unfamiliar, primal emotion take hold of her and ruin the best night of her life. “I must find my next partner.” And she slipped off to the center of the room.
This time, Francesca determined to give full attention to her partner in order to avoid accidentally catching sight of the pair in the window. Her current dance partner owned much land and was regaling her with tales of pigs dying from a disease his farmers could not fathom. She was nodding in the correct places when halfway through the second dance, a figure tapped her partner on the shoulder and politely asked if he might steal Francesca from him.
Francesca stopped breathing as Mr. Ashbourne gently took her gloved hand in his and expertly spun her around the room, leaving her former partner in the center of the dance floor, spluttering at the lack of manners. She became dizzy at the realization that Mr. Ashbourne was actually dancing with her.
After several turns, he lowered his head and whispered into her ear, his nose tickling her skin and sending a thrill up her spine, causing a delicious sensation in her midriff.